So incompetent has the generality of historians been for the
province they have undertaken, that it is almost a question,
whether, if the dead of past ages could revive, they would be able
to reconnoitre the events of their own times, as transmitted to us
by ignorance and misrepresentation. All very ancient history, except
that of the illuminated Jews, is a perfect fable. It was written by
priests, or collected from their reports; and calculated solely to
raise lofty ideas of the origin of each nation. Gods and demi-gods
were the principal actors; and truth is seldom to be expected where
the personages are supernatural. The Greek historians have no
advantage over the Peruvian, but in the beauty of their language, or
from that language being more familiar to us. Mango Capac,
the son of the sun, is as authentic a founder of a royal race, as
the progenitor of the Heraclidae. What truth indeed could be
expected, when even the identity of person is uncertain? The actions
of one were ascribed to many, and of many to one. It is not known
whether there was a single Hercules or twenty.

As nations grew polished. History became better authenticated.
Greece itself learned to speak a little truth. Rome, at the hour of
its fall, had the consolation of seeing the crimes of its usurpers
published. The vanquished inflicted eternal wounds on their
conquerors--but who knows, if Pompey had succeeded, whether Julius
Caesar would not have been decorated as a martyr to publick liberty?
At some periods the suffering criminal captivates all hearts; at
others, the triumphant tyrant. Augustus, drenched in the blood of
his fellow-citizens, and Charles Stuart, falling in his own blood,
are held up to admiration. Truth is left out of the discussion; and
odes and anniversary sermons give the law to history and credulity.